


Everybody Talks

by AlwaysSpeaksHerMind



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Attraction, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Literal Sleeping Together, Not-so-secret secret crush, canon compliant(ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11318688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysSpeaksHerMind/pseuds/AlwaysSpeaksHerMind
Summary: "All he was trying to do was get a drink. Just one. But no, of course that wasn’t to be. Fifteen quakes they’d fixed, and yet he still couldn’t relax because apparently, there truly was no rest for the weary!Not that the word ‘weary’ even came close to describing his current state. After everything he’d been through recently he was thirsty, exhausted, in dire need of a bath, and utterly done with at least two members of the Waverider’s crew."(Prompt: A string of timequakes has all of the Legends exhausted. All Rip Hunter wants is ten minutes to himself to eat a proper meal, shower, and get in a quick nap. All three preferably with Sara.) **Not really teen, but rated that to be on the safe side**





	Everybody Talks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxVII](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxVII/gifts).



“Sara. Rip! Gideon? _Somebody!_ He’s doing it again!”

Halting mid-pour, Rip ground his teeth.

_Every bloody time_ he thought, slamming the bottle down on the table with dangerous force. All he was trying to do was get a drink. Just one. But no, of course _that_ wasn’t to be. Fifteen quakes they’d fixed, and yet he still couldn’t relax because apparently, there truly _was_ no rest for the weary! Not that the word ‘weary’ even came close to describing his current state. After everything he’d been through recently he was thirsty, exhausted, in dire need of a bath, and utterly done with at least two members of the Waverider’s crew.

“Mr. Rory!” he shouted, fingers tightening on the glass. “If it’s not too much trouble, will you kindly refrain from burning any more of Dr. Palmer’s things? Gideon’s got enough to do without having to make clothing and bedding every five minutes for heaven’s sake, and I promise you I’ll shoot the next individual who makes Dr. Palmer insist we stop for replacement music tracks. Can you please, just this once, _pretend_ that you’re both adults and work this out without involving either flames or the suit?”

Ignoring the slew of gruff complaints about pretty-boy scientists and their stupid room décor and music choices, Rip pinched the bridge of his nose. At times like this, he deeply regretted the decisions he’d made in room assignments. In hindsight, putting Mick Rory and Ray Palmer right across the hall from one another had not been the wisest move. Quite often, they got along without a hitch. But with a new timequake appearing at every turn, tempers were wearing a bit thin, the quarrels kept increasing, and right now Rip personally felt a desire to kick the both of them out into the time vortex if only for some peace and quiet.

“Everything okay?”

Rip straightened up, turning to find Sara standing beside him, a spear in either hand.

“Somewhat,” he answered, noticing that she still bore all the dirt and scratches from their most recent mission, a skirmish in seventeenth century England with Attila the Hun and a squadron of French foreign legion troops headed by Napoleon Bonaparte. “How badly do you suppose we’ll need them for the next unforeseen event?”

She snorted. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Preferably.”

“Negative five, right now,” she said, a crooked smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. “The instant we ditch them or lock them up to fight it out?  Twenty. Maybe even twenty-five. It’s kinda how our luck rolls around here.”

“Oh, only twenty-five?” His eyebrows rose sarcastically. “That’s not terrible.”

“You’re telling me. But still.” She pointed toward him, waving her finger at his coat. “Say, what’s all this? No offense, but you look like something a whole pack of cats dragged in. Where’s our dapper British time master?”

He tried not to smile, but as usual, it was impossible. Somehow, even in his worst moods, she could always get him to laugh. “Not to be rude, Ms…er, _Captain_ Lance, but have you made use of the mirrors lately?”

“What? Please.” Flipping her hair back, she struck a comically seductive pose. “You know you want this. Minus the blood, of course,” she added, businesslike demeanor returning as she caught sight of the ends of her hair. “It’s gonna take a lot of shampoo to get that out. Dibs on the shower, okay?”

“Right,” he said crisply, thanking his stars he’d developed an excellent poker face over the years. He was dealing with quite enough distractions already; he didn’t need the mental image of his best fighter, slash acting captain turned official captain, slash person he trusted most drenching herself in the shower to further drive him mad. “Just don’t kill all the hot water this time, eh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Her left eyelid slid down and up in a quick wink. “I’ll give it a shot. But no promises, _Captain_ Hunter.”

She disappeared down the corridor, her easy laugh a lingering echo that forced him to sit down and attempt to regain control of himself. He had no idea when this sudden preoccupation with Sara had all started, but it struck him that analyzing the confusing phenomenon was more than a bit ridiculous. What purpose did sifting through his every interaction with her in order to reach a conclusion about the origin of his feelings serve? Focusing on things of that sort, letting his mind wander over to that topic—it was foolish. The Waverider was too small, its crew too nosy for his distraction to go unnoticed, and though he doubted anyone would correctly guess the subject of his thoughts, the constant inquiries would irritate him.

_No,_ he told himself sternly, filling his glass with whatever strong, foul-tasting stuff was in the bottle he’d grabbed and draining it in a few gulps. He was not going to think about her. Not like that. Even if he desperately wanted to. He was absolutely, positively _not_ going to imagine how delightful it would be to discuss something with her other than the next strategical move, or the best way to pilot the ship, or which of their comrades was most likely to accidentally (or purposely) decapitate another of their comrades. He certainly wasn’t going to begin to speculate on how wonderful it might be to fall asleep next to her, because—

“Hello? Rip?”

He started, head snapping to attention as he realized that he was no longer alone in the kitchen area. “What?” he questioned, seeing the assembled company—Jax, Amaya, Nate, and Mick—all staring at him with peculiar expressions on their faces.

“Nothing,” Amaya answered, stirring some sugar into her coffee. “Mick was just saying you were dead to the world, and Nate was testing that.”

“Turns out he’s right,” Nate remarked, shaking a bag of crisps at Rip. “Five times, man. Five times and no answer. Something on your mind?”

“Not at all,” Rip responded, taking a hasty sip. _Of nothing_ , he discovered, so he quickly refilled the glass. “Why?”

Jax crossed his arms. “Uh-huh. Please tell me you’re not sitting there drooling over Sara again?”

“What?” Genuinely alarmed, Rip stared at the young man. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

He shrugged. “Maybe the fact that you always get that look when you’re thinking about her?”

“It’s true.” Mick lifted his beer in salute. “You look stupid.”

“Begging your pardons Mr. Jackson, Mr. Rory," Rip snapped, "but I do not have ‘a look,’ nor would it be stupid if I did. I’m merely sitting here _trying_ to relax.”

Jax rolled his eyes. “Come on, dude. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“Yeah.” Nate pointed toward the table. “You’re even drinking…well, whatever that crap is she likes. Some might call that a Freudian slip.”

“What?” Rip stared at the indicated liquid, mind churning. He wasn’t, surely? “I just picked it up! It’s not as if I deliberately chose that particular bottle. I’m afraid you’re all slightly out of your minds.”

“Well, it is still her drink,” Amaya said mildly, shooing the others toward the door. “And it’s disgusting, yet you’re drinking it.”

“Yeah.” Mick chuckled as he exited along with the rest of them. “Which she just might kill you for, so…best of luck, Englishman.”

Speechless, Rip watched them leave. No. Had he really been that obvious?

The question haunted him for the rest of the day, refusing to leave him alone—not when he showered, not when he ate, not even when he cleaned every single weapon on board the ship in the hopes of putting his overactive brain onto something else. Eventually, he simply gave up and paced the main cabin until physical exhaustion reared its ugly head. By that point, he was too tired to care, so he just mumbled a goodnight to Gideon and climbed into the Captain’s chair, knowing even as his eyes slipped shut exactly who was going to fill his dreams.

And of course, his guess was correct. Misty, garbled versions of battles, rescues, and past conversations danced before his eyes, but in all of them, he acted like less of a brusque, arrogant tosser and actually said what he ought to have said to her. Like the memory of the time he’d slept in the captain’s chair and she’d stumbled into the cabin, frowsy-haired and bleary-eyed, dragging a blanket with her, and collapsed into the chair nearest him. Instead of just nodding at her and going back to sleep, he actually had the nerve to invite her over to sleep with him, and she actually accepted.

_Wait._

Rip’s eyes flew open as a soft, warm weight settled onto his lap. That last one had never happened. Except it had, because it was happening right now, and had he really been that groggy? Was he actually moving over to make room for her, and was she spreading her blanket over the both of them, or was he dreaming up the entire thing?

“Sara?” he mumbled experimentally, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she answered, leaning her head on his shoulder, her soft laugh tickling the side of his neck. “You asked me three times already. I can pinch you if you want. Or punch. Your choice.”

He twisted around to squint at her. One of the few remaining streaks of light in the darkened room fell across her eyes, their intense blueness making him catch his breath. “Can I request a slap, actually?”

_Wham!_

“Sorry, she said, her voice tinged with humor as he swore and she gently patted the cheek she’d just solidly struck. “Believe me now?”

“Yes,” Rip gasped, his head falling back against the seat. “Quite, thank you. Bloody hell, I can _feel_ the League training. But why—”

“Nuh-uh.” She shifted back down, again pillowing her head on his shoulder. “I need sleep and so do you. We can figure this out later. All right?”

“Right,” he agreed, resting his head against hers. “Well, then. Goodnight, Sara.”

He could feel her smile against his neck. “Goodnight, Rip.”

For a long moment there was silence, save the sound of Sara’s steady breathing. But then a stealthy footstep near the doorway made Rip roll his eyes, and without moving he addressed the figure hovering just outside the room.

“One word Dr. Heywood, and I draw graffiti on the next important historical artifact we come across.”

A low chuckle sounded from the shadows. “So we’re all slightly out of our minds, are we?”

“Yes, you are,” Sara answered, her hair brushing against Rip’s neck as she raised her head to level a stare toward the door. “Now scram, Nate. Or while he’s graffiti-ing artifacts, I’m gonna tear a few choice pages out of your pretty books.”

“Fair enough. Goodnight, you two totally platonic cuddle buddies.”

So saying, Nate departed at a dead sprint, prompting a deep sigh from Rip.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sara assured him, snuggling into his side. “Gideon likes us better than him anyway. We can exploit that.”

“True,” he agreed, tucking the blanket back up around her shoulders where it had slid off. “But…tomorrow.”

“Yep,” she murmured sleepily. “Definitely tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> xfoxVII, this was an amazing prompt! I've now added Rip/Sara to the list of ships I need to write for. The possibilities are endless.  
> Also: apologies if I didn't include as many feels as you wanted. I got a lil' carried away with the Rip being confused angle.  
> Hope you enjoy anyway :)


End file.
